


Get Your Damn Flu Shots, Kids

by thilesluna



Series: That Lunael Collection [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8193244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilesluna/pseuds/thilesluna
Summary: “Okay so like, don’t freak out or anything. I just—I needed a place to wash all of this blood off of me.”Miles blinks, assesses the scene before him, and promptly passes out.





	

“Okay so like, don’t freak out or anything. I just—I needed a place to wash all of this blood off of me.”

Miles blinks, assesses the scene before him, and promptly passes out.

\---

“You look like shit,” Kerry says. “You should go home.”

“I can’t go home, Kerry.” Miles looks up from his computer screen and gestures to all the papers on his desk. “I have to finish the paperwork on the last case because you and Kyle fucking _suck_ at it.”

“Hey, my incompetence is carefully crafted,” Kerry says, shooting a staple at Miles from across the aisle. “I’m only bad at it because that’s the way I _want_ to be.”

“I fucking hate you,” Miles responds. He really doesn’t feel well; his head is pounding and feels like it’s packed up with 20 feather pillows. If he had to guess from the way his face feels hot, he’s probably running a tiny little fever.

“Go _home_ , Miles.”

Miles sighs, rubbing at his temples, like that will ease some of the pressure in his skull. “For the last time, Kerry, I can’t just go—“

Someone clears their throat behind him and he turns to see Burns standing behind him with his arms folded across his chest. “You look like death,” he says.

“I’m—I’m fine, sir,” Miles lies. “Just trying to power through the paperwork from last week’s case.”

“Luna?” Burns looks unfazed by the mountain of papers Miles points to on his desk.

Miles swallows. “Yes, sir?”

“Go the fuck home.”

“Yes sir.”

\---

He stops at CVS for some cold medicine—and some ice cream because he’s worth it, damnit—on his way home. He finishes grumbling about pushy co-workers and commanding officers by the time he slides his key in his door and is actually happy to be back in his shitty apartment.

Miles notices the living room window open and sets his bags down on the counter before crossing to it. He doesn’t remember leaving it open, but his apartment is also so shitty that it could have just been blown open by a light breeze. He makes a mental note to call his landlord as he shuts it.

He’s got the ice cream in the freezer and the box of cold medicine open before he realizes that his bathroom light is on. _That_ he definitely knows he didn’t leave on because his electricity bill is already a fucking nightmare so he double-checks for lights every time before he leaves.

His head is still pounding but he only feels a little bit dizzy when he draws his sidearm and makes his way carefully to the bathroom door. Miles grips the knob with a sweaty palm and turns it slowly before throwing open the door, his gun pointed.

Inside is a man with curly brown hair, a black t-shirt, and who is _covered_ in blood. Judging by the gash on his upper arm, some of which is his own. There’s a brown leather jacket thrown over the lip of the tub and Miles realizes that the man looks familiar.

He throws his hands into the air and says, “Okay so like, don’t freak out or anything. I just—I needed a place to wash all of this blood off of me.”

There’s a beat and then everything goes dark.

\---

When Miles wakes up, he’s on his couch wrapped in at least two blankets. He blinks a few times before the room really comes into focus and he can hear someone moving around in the kitchen. He struggles to free himself from his blanket cocoon but suddenly there’s a hand pushing him back against the cushions.

“Dude, stop it. Just fucking—Jesus, just relax for a second,” the man from the bathroom says. “Christ.”

He’s covered in significantly less blood and is…wearing one of Miles’ old t-shirts?

“What—“

“Listen, you dropped like a sack of bricks and I—well I felt bad for scaring you so I bundled you up. You were shaking, dude. Like, you’re pretty sick.” The guy picks up a mug from the side table and offers it out to Miles. It smells like the tea he keeps in his cupboard.

“I passed out?”

“Yep,” the guy says, popping his ‘p’. “I mean, I know I’m good looking, but I’ve never gotten that reaction before.” He’s grinning and Miles suddenly feels hot for a different reason. The guy is pretty damn cute.

“That’s—That’s pretty fucking embarrassing.”

“No shit, dude.”

“Are you wearing my shirt?” Miles asks.

This time, the guy’s face flushes pink. “Uh, yeah. Mine was a little—“

“Bloody. I remember.”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck.

Miles lets his head fall back against the pillow that’s propping him up on the couch. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Michael.”

“Miles,” he responds, not wanting to be rude.

Michael grins again. “Detective Miles?”

He looks over and sees Michael holding up his badge, wiggling it around in his hand. “Murderer Michael?” he shoots back.

“Hey man, you don’t have to be a murderer to be covered in blood,” Michael laughs. “For all you know, I could be like, an animal butcher.”

“Or a member of the Fake AH Crew,” Miles says, watching Michael’s face.

It pales considerably as it slips into a shocked expression. “How—“

Miles shrugs, or as best as he can still wrapped up in the blankets. “Seen you on the news. The leather jacket was kind of a giveaway too.”

“I can see why you get paid the big bucks to be a detective,” Michael says, sounding a tiny bit impressed.

Miles laughs even though it makes his head hurt worse. “What about this apartment screams ‘big bucks’?” He shuts his eyes, the light from the living room window too much for his pounding head. He feels something cool and damp on his forehead and cracks an eye open to see Michael leaning back from where he placed the cloth.

“You okay?” Michael asks. “You look like shit.”

“Huh,” Miles grunts. “You’re like the third person to say that to me today. I’m gonna get a complex.”

There’s a beat of silence before Michael speaks again. “You’re taking the ‘member of one of the biggest gangs in Los Santos’ thing pretty well.”

Miles tries to wave a hand at him but the blanket traps him. “If you were gonna kill me you would have. Or at the very least you wouldn’t have made me tea.”

“Maybe that’s my creepy serial killer M.O.” Michael says. “Maybe I get people all comfortable and then kill them.”

Miles snorts but it turns into an unattractive cough. Michael offers him some more tea which his sips carefully. “Do your worst,” he grumbles. “It’d be a sweet release from how I feel right now.”

“You’re being so dramatic,” Michael says, rolling his eyes. “Its probably just the flu.”

“It’s too late for me, Michael. I’m dying.” Miles throws his head back, almost dislodging the cloth that Michael fixes with an annoyed sound. “Leave me here. Save yourself.”

“Idiot,” Michael says, but it comes out with a fond edge that makes Miles grin. “Don’t die in the 2 minutes it takes for me to get you some medicine.”

“No promises,” Miles groans. “Tell my mom I love her.” A hand ruffles his hair and he doesn’t think about how it feels kind of nice.

Michael returns moments later. He holds out a few pills and Miles dutifully opens up his mouth to take them. Michael follows up with a glass of water and he makes Miles drink the whole thing. “Come on,” he says, carefully unwrapping Miles from his blankets. Miles starts to shiver immediately. “Lets get you to bed, you big baby.”

“You do this for all the people whose houses you break into or am I just special,” Miles asks, his voice slurring. He’s so tired.

“Just you,” Michael replies. “And it’s just because you’re cute and I’m borrowing your clothes.” He maneuvers Miles to the bed and gets him covered in the blankets.

Miles looks up at him, grinning. Michael looks good in his clothes. “You should keep it,” he says, eyes slipping closed. “You look good in it.”

“Lemme guess,” Michael says, laughing, “I’d look better without it though.”

“I’m not saying you _wouldn’t_ ,” Miles agrees. “But I just like the way my shirt looks on you. That could be the fever talking.” He can feel himself falling asleep more and more as each second passes. “Thanks for not leaving me passed out in my hallway,” he murmurs.

“No problem, dude. Thanks for not shooting me for breaking into your apartment,” Michael responds.

Miles manages to crack one eye open and give Michael a lopsided smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

Michael laughs again, this time softer.“Nice to meet you too. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

When Miles is almost totally out of it, he _swears_ he feels a kiss pressed into his hair but that’s neither here nor there. He does, however, fall asleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> i just love LUNAEL ok
> 
> on tumblr @thilesluna


End file.
